As the World Ends
by Abenlied
Summary: Dean fled his old life for the beaches of California. If the world ends or not, he wants nothing to do with it. Too bad that's not really his choice. Rated M for eventual Dean/Cas slash :
1. California Dreamin'

Dean threw his surfboard onto the wet sand and shook salt water out of his sun-bleached, chin-length hair. Throwing himself onto the sand next to his beat-up board, he closed his eyes and let the heat of the sun dry his tanned skin. The crash of the waves on the shore was somewhat soothing to his scorched brain.

Mom… gone. Dad… gone. Sam…gone. Cas… gone. Bobby… he couldn't even bring himself to look the older hunter in the eye. As a matter of fact he couldn't really look himself in the eye for a long time after… everything happened.

Yeah, he tried playing house with Lisa and Ben. He loved Ben, he was a really great kid, but he couldn't love Lisa. She brought back memories he was not interested in having. Hunting brought back more hurt. Even his goddamned Impala… abandoned on Bobby's lot in the middle of the night a long time ago. He didn't want to see it for a long time. Maybe never.

In fact, everything he'd ever known and loved, from his music to his car to his damned leather jacket just cut him to the soul to even think about, so he did something new. He went out to California, picked up surfing, and neglected his typical 'high-and-tight' to the point where he looked like a goddamned hippie. But it was different. He didn't look like 'Dean' anymore, and that was OK with him.

In fact, he wasn't 'Dean Winchester' anymore. Dean Winchester was legally dead anyway. He was 'Rob Paige' now, (OK, so the music was still in his blood, even if the Led Zeppelin inspired name was a little mish-mashed) and he was just a quiet guy who kept to himself and worked at the local surf shop. Waxing a board wasn't too far from waxing a car, right? Well, maybe, but he couldn't go near cars of any kind. Besides, more hot chicks frequented surf shops than an auto mechanic's shop. He'd become notoriously shy, not nearly as flirtatious or lecherous. He didn't barhop, didn't hang around in strip clubs, didn't really even make friends. He just went home to his efficiency near the beach and made himself something or other to eat and vegged out on the couch. Dean didn't know who he was anymore, but he was happy with that.

As he stretched out on the sand, he tried not to think of the strange weather reports he'd seen on the news last night before shutting off the television. Hurricane-like weather in Kansas. Hurricanes. In Kansas. Definitely something he didn't want to think about ever again. If the world was going to end he wanted it to end without his knowing anything about it. The thought of the devil riding Sam like a pony as he tore the planet to pieces wasn't something he could deal with right now.

"Dude, what's with your tatt?" He heard a voice drawl from somewhere above him. He opened one green eye to squint at the teenager gawking down at him. "Do you like, worship the devil or something?"

His anti-possession tattoo. He felt a cold curl of sickness in his stomach as the word 'devil' hit him. The kid looked high, though, or at least perma-stoned. His anger faded and he just felt empty again.

"No. Its just… a design."

"Oh, dude, cool." The kid bobbed his head and continued on down the beach like he'd never stopped to ruin Dean's peace. Dean sighed. The angle of the sun in the sky told him it was almost noon and time to head to work. He rolled up off the sand and grabbed his board, trudging off down the beach.


	2. I've Got All This Ringing in My Ears

"Hey Rob!" Sandy greeted him with a bright white smile in a pretty, tanned face. The girl looked like a supermodel, honestly, all long limbs and a great figure, but Dean could barely be interested. He gave her a weak nod and stashed his board behind the counter. Sandy was the daughter of Big Mike, the local surf legend and owner of Big Mike's Big Wave. She was wearing a tiny little Hurley tank, showing off her perfect, flat and toned stomach with the little flipflop belly button ring dangling over her Daisy Dukes. Yeah, she was hot, and apparently interested in him. A few months ago he would have already had her a time or two, but now…

"Some of my friends are throwing a big party tonight down at the beach, you wanna come with me?" She asked, flashing her perfect smile and huge brown eyes at him.

"Sorry, I have some stuff to do." He muttered lamely.

"Oh, come on! It'll be fun!" She smiled encouragingly.

"I'll… I'll think about it." He half-smiled back. He could get laid so easily… If he'd wanted to. Which he apparently didn't.

"Oh good, you really should, it'll be great." She touched his arm, flirting hard-core for this laid-back chick.

He froze, staring awkwardly at her hand. Pale pink nail polish set off her tan, deeper even than his. She squeezed his arm and went back to sorting through some cardboard boxes on the floor, sticking her ass in the air knowingly. Dean just walked away and began to inspect a board someone had dropped off for repair.

A few hours passed by, customers came and went steadily and Sandy kept shooting him hungry glances. Dean just hid behind his hair and focused on his work.

A strange buzzing began in his head, like a fly was trapped in his brain. He shook his head a little, trying to clear it. Sandy looked up at him and frowned.

"Something wrong?" She asked, folding a t-shirt.

"My ear is ringing." He muttered.

"Oh gosh, I hope you're not getting swimmer's ear…" She frowned. "Does it hurt?"

"A little, not too bad…" He shook his head again, but the sound didn't go away. As he bent over the surfboard again, the buzzing grew louder. Slowly and steadily it escalated into full-scale ringing. Clamping his hands over his ears, he gritted his teeth.

"Rob?" He heard the voice as if through cellophane. He could sense Sandy's hands on his shoulders, but he couldn't move. His head was going to explode like a potato in the microwave, and he couldn't stop it.

Except it did stop. Gradually, it faded away to no more than a slight buzz and he was able to straighten up again, somewhat embarrassed.

"Go home, Rob, you need to lie down." Sandy ordered. He didn't argue. He just nodded and stumbled out the door and into the sunlight – was it always this bright? He squinted and trudged off towards home.

Climbing the steps to his beach house-turned-apartment, he let himself into the blessed dimness of pulled down shades and the air conditioner which blasted noisily into life as he touched the button. He crossed to his bed and fell face-first into it, falling asleep almost instantly.

A noise at the foot of his bed woke him suddenly. He made no visible movement, except to clench his hand hidden under the pillow around the cold handle of a gun. OK, so he was trying to forget his old life, but he wasn't STUPID. Flipping over as fast as he could, he had the gun pointed at the source of the noise faster than—Wait… Nothing was there. The apartment was empty of life forms other than himself. The salt across his windowsill was untouched (really, he wanted to forget it all, but again, he wasn't stupid. Slowly climbing out of his bed, he checked the other window, the door and the sliding glass door. All still salted perfectly.

"Just a dream, I guess…" He shook his head and headed to the fridge. The microwave clock read 1:05 am. Great. Too early to be up and too awake to go back to sleep. He fished a water bottle out from the relatively sparsely filled fridge and downed the whole thing the way he used to chug a beer.

He turned towards the couch and stopped dead in his tracks.

A pair of eyes shining in the dark. Something was in his apartment and he could never get to his gun in time.

The buzzing in his head intensified suddenly and powerfully, like 300 fire trucks were blowing their horns all at once.

"Hello Dean." He could barely make out over the screaming in his head.

No longer able to deal with the feeling of his brain swelling, he dropped to the floor in a dead faint.


	3. Chapter 3

A.N. I really wanted to jump back into the swing of things, but im not gonna :P

Dean opened his eyes. He was in bed again, the covers pulled up over his waist. His head felt clear, all signs of buzzing or ringing gone. Actually, he felt pretty good. He sat up and stretched, looking around. Nothing looked disturbed.

A dream?

"Jesus," Dean shook his head. Dean really wasn't much on dreams, unless they'd involved hot chicks or apple pie… or maybe hot chicks with apple pie… but this bullshit? He remembered the voice speaking to him through the explosions in his head… He couldn't pin down anything definite about the voice, not even if it were male or female… just the words 'hello Dean' bouncing around in his head.

He shook his head again. Not interested. He didn't want to know. He climbed out of his bed and grabbed his swim trunks. Changing quickly, he stuffed his feet into some beat up shoes and headed for the Big Wave to retrieve his board.

Big Mike himself was behind the counter for once. He smiled broadly at Dean, the phone tucked between his ear and shoulder as he placed an order with their main supplier. Dean couldn't help but like the guy, his face red and full of lines from years of sun exposure, his hair too long and a strange mix of sunbleached blonde and grey, and he was wearing a severely faded Big Wave tee shirt which may or may not have been red at one point.

Dean grabbed his board and headed straight for the water. He needed something like the roar of water pounding over his head to make him feel easy again.

Hours later Dean knew it was time to head back in. As he rode his last wave in to shore, he'd almost forgotten the weird headache from yesterday… almost.

Sandy was at the counter helping a customer as he entered. She shot him a look of concern, but he ignored it. The last thing he wanted right now was girly concern. He headed straight towards the back to stash his board and begin the repair work that was waiting for him.

Halfway through putting a new tether on a long board, a shadow fell across his hands. He looked up to see Sandy, hands on hips, peering down at him. He stared at her awkwardly for a few moments, before he realized she was waiting for him to say something.

"Hi?" He raised an eyebrow, hoping that if he acted like nothing had happened, so would she.

"Hi? That's it? Hi?" She demanded.

"How are you?" He asked slowly. He knew as soon as he said it that it would only infuriate her further, but he couldn't help it. HE was a cocky bastard at heart.

"What happened yesterday?" She glared at him. He sighed. Leave it to a chick to make a big deal out of nothing and ruin his peace.

"Migraine, I guess." He shrugged. It sounded lame, hell, it FELT lame to say, but it seemed plausible.

She stared at him a moment more, trying to decide if this answer pleased her, or maybe thinking of another attack. In the end, she just frowned and kept on looking at him.

"Maybe I was in the sun too much yesterday," He supplied. Totally logical. Hell, one time he'd seen Sammy barf from just being in direct sunlight too long. Sammy… That was a mistake to think about… He offered Sandy a charming smile and began to work on the tether again.

Sandy stood a few more moments in silence.

"I guess that makes sense…" She finally replied. "You should be more careful, you could have gotten sun poisoning or heat stroke." She gave him a cute little pout and patted his shoulder. Dean Winchester would have taken that opportunity to let her play 'doctor' with him, but Rob Paige just nodded and sort of half-smiled.

"I will, thanks."

She retreated back to the front of the store and all was peaceful for a long while. Dean finished several boards without much issue. He tuned out the noises of the shop, and focused on waxing a board, trying not to imagine waxing a shining black hood or carefully wiping a windshield, or lovingly polishing a chrome fender, or-

"Why? Is he in some kind of trouble?" Sandy's voice jerked him out of his reverie. She sounded upset.

"No. I just need to find him." A deep voice responded. Dean's blood froze.

"Hold on a minute…" Sandy muttered. He heard her footsteps approaching and began wishing there was an exit in the back room.

"Rob…" She appeared, closing the door behind her. She was holding a piece of paper in her hand, staring down at it. "Rob… what is this?" She held it out to him and all his worst fears came screaming back into his head.


	4. You Found Me

A.N. Just a quick short chapter before I go on to the next. I like short chapters, honestly.

Sandy was holding a picture of him. Well, specifically a picture of Dean Winchester, leaning against the hood of the Impala, a rolled up paper bag like a cigar clenched in his teeth, holding his sawed-off against his hip like a gangster.

They had been in a motel parking lot, somewhere in Illinois, and Castiel had become fascinated with taking pictures. Dean had humored him with a pose or two before becoming annoyed with Castiel's desire to photograph his feet, hands, and eyes endlessly. He remembered the last frame had been a shot of him sleeping, shirtless, tangled in bed sheets. At first he'd just shaken his head, but after relentless teasing from Sam, he'd gotten short with Cas and the camera disappeared.

He almost laughed looking at the picture again, before remembering that Sandy was still staring at him and someone was waiting for him outside; Someone who may or may not want to kill him. Demons, angels, angry hunters… didn't matter. He closed his eyes. He realized he could never run far enough.

"Rob? Who is Dean? Is this you in this picture?" Sandy demanded. He'd have to answer her somehow… But what the hell was he supposed to say?

"Who's out there, Sandy?" He asked, his voice very quiet.

"Rob-"

"Who, Sandy? Who is out there?" He repeated, his voice harsh.

She froze, looking at him oddly. "I don't know, some guy who looks like a cop or something. Not too tall, black hair… a trench coat…"

"A trench coat?"

"Yeah… I mean… who wears a trench coat in May in California?"

Dean let out a snort. He rubbed his face and shook his head.

"Rob?" Sandy hissed.

If HE was here, he knew his days in the sun had ended. There was no going back.

"Sandy… That guy is a… an old partner of mine. My brother and I… and him… it was sort of a family business-"

"You were in the _mob_?" Sandy hissed.

"No, no… nothing like that." Dean let out a sigh. "If he's here for me, its not for a social visit. I have to go back with him. Take up the ropes again."

"Rob, I don't understand…" Sandy frowned.

"I gotta go, Sandy. Tell your dad thanks for everything." Dean stood and picked up his board, turned to look at Sandy, gave her a weak smile and a wink.

"Rob? Rob!" Sandy yelled after him as he pushed the door open and walked out into the shop to face the music.

He stood awkwardly in front of the counter, staring up towards the ceiling, his clear blue eyes fixed on something that probably only he could see. Dean couldn't help but take him in. Same black hair that looked like it hadn't been combed in a while, same five-o-clock shadow, same slightly rumpled clothes… He turned his head slowly to stare when Dean walked out the door. Dean cracked a smile at the look of open surprise on his face.

"You've changed." Castiel said in lieu of a greeting, observing Dean's long hair, bronzed skin, and swim trunks with flip flops outfit.

"You haven't." Dean replied.

"But I have. Just not in ways your eyes could perceive."

"So how does it feel to be one of the big dogs now?"

"I do not feel like a dog, Dean." Castiel frowned.

Dean shook his head and laughed softly. "Come on, Cas. We have a stop to make first." He led Castiel out the door, but only the angel stopped to look back.


End file.
